


The Dawn Was Breaking the Bones of Your Heart Like Twigs

by peacefrog



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, episode: 2x19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:52:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You leave him begging for more in the hopes he will finally see the words right in front of him. Etched into the long lines of his back. Dripping down his chin. Carved into his knees. Every part of him a part of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dawn Was Breaking the Bones of Your Heart Like Twigs

You claim every inch of him. You silently scream _I love you’s_ into his hair with your mouth that belongs to him. Desperation flows from your tongue. Your lips are a reminder. You leave him lying there, covered in you, your scent clinging to his flesh. You leave him begging for more in the hopes he will finally see the words right in front of him. Etched into the long lines of his back. Dripping down his chin. Carved into his knees. Every part of him a part of you. The words pale in comparison to the adoration you have pressed against his body with your own.

You wish that he could see it, how he swirls inside you. You don’t love him in the conventional sense. No. It’s always been so much more than that. Your desire could never be expressed in words. Forests would wilt, bow down, kneel at the feet of what you feel for him. What good are words that catch in your throat? You want to devour him with your hands. You could swallow him down, hold him in your mouth for an eternity, and still the depth and weight of your love would not be felt. It is some living thing. Cosmic. Beyond romance or reason.

Once he has plucked the flowers from you, the ones he planted there, he takes them to sell in the city. A barren plot of land left in his wake, and you know that is all you ever were. Dirt and ashes. His seeds will no longer grow. You listen to the sounds he makes. His breathing. His longing. Your body reaches out for him but your mouth is sewn shut. You scream against the stitches. He leaves you lying in between rows of trampled petals. Dry earth in your mouth feels like blood, and it all tastes so inevitable.


End file.
